The Faces Played With Are Saved And Spent

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♦ *

Taped Rugs Productions

Kansas City, Kansas, USA

www.tapedrugs.com

THE FACES PLAYED WITH
ARE SAVED AND SPENT

words and illustrations by
Charles Rice Goff III

Charles Rice Goff

Audio, Visual, Literary Artist. Founder, producer,
performer, writer, photographer, graphics artist,
videographer, recording engineer, promoter, etc.
for TAPED RUGS PRODUCTIONS since 1980.

Experimental, Avant Garde, Dadaist, Expressionist,
Surrealist, Fluxus, Psychedelic. Has collaborated
with hundreds of artists from around the world.
Previous and ongoing projects include: -ING,
Disism, Herd Of The Ether Space, Turkey Makes
Me Sleepy, Magic Potty Babies, River Cow
Orchestra. Works have been compared to those of
John Cage, Frank Zappa, William Burroughs, The
Residents, Brian Wilson, Kurt Schwitters, Robert
Fripp, Rene Magritte, Andy Warhol, Todd
Rundgren.

Catalogue, reviews, interviews, audio links, video
art, photographs, computer art, and more at Taped
Rugs Productions:

www. taped rugs, com

THE FACES PLAYED WITH
ARE SAVED AND SPENT

words and Illustrations by
Charles Rice Gofflli

Gauging interpretation swallows heads;

imaginations are threatened by shadows bulbed at one end.

Computing perfection intensifies rebellion

until the story tells itself in every way.

The last force to tell daydreams to

can wipe sweat from the sun's mother's face

with stained bits of wood charred in melted metal drawers.

Copyright 1983 by Charles Rice Goff I
Taped Rugs Productions

Well, the they just left,

and if the story didn't make any sense,

it might tomorrow

when somebody says it differently,

and the same ideas go together in just the right way

to convince the one who found them that the people's faces were bending

in whichever way he or she had wanted them to.

Revised Edition, Copyright 2010

i

WOODSTAINED RAG

Hidden under voices,

scribbled with a stolen pencil,

dull and wooden-nosed,

said with a cliche that won't allow it,

the they of them who come sometimes

come to probe the places insecurely holding me

to the whatever that is around.

Around the tornadoing need to turn on the TV again

and the need to be able to pay for it,

speeding up faster than I can catch up,

I splash the art,

and then I'm criticized and criticizing myself for saying "I."

Whirling about face, forward march those needed to be praised ;

for having pleased,

and those who must not please,

to make the pleasing all the more pleasant.

The functioning wheel lubes itself,

feeds the little ones turning it —

grand little ones and grand little poems praising them.

They leave their droppings,

laughing along the way,

except when their own words carry them back

to the truth of the pretzel.

The salty communal greed crust doesn't wash off,

spawning parasites in carnivorous underwear.

Studying the breeding patterns of hoarding,

insects and farmers stalk the same wheat.

Wavering between thoughts of eating and reproducing,

theories concerned with the nature of earth

hiding under clouds

ask if sandwiches in outer space require ziplock storage.

"fteft&ki do /lot uHHtywAl f-

OC dOMie eJse -fe be ^ifTsh

9/W Waer,

THE "US" IN "PUS"

screaming quietly

the words write themselves

each one spits up a bit of the food

eaten before it could be written

on the chain that the food is fed from

the links can be bent

but teething boys and girls are sometimes too sharp

thinking they can chew through the chain and taste heaven

thinking they can find time to play the harps of angels

and harping on and on about love

they defend their love of self

ready to burn a bit of digested food

to protect the rest

and relaxation

to be digested as the words write themselves

to protect the rest

and relaxation

DAYLIGHT SAVINGS

The moonface smiles

bright in the daylight by my kite,

but I'll still be smiling after the moon has its final round.

I can't be dying;

the burial ground is unsound.

My energies oppose gravities,

and any piece of mind

is certainly a piece of yours.

TENDING DAYS' EASE

The rakers of fate's garden:

ardent beggars of continued pardon -

discontent deals their dirty hands;

the rakers mourn loud to block out everyday's command.

My iron rake sits wet-heavy on my thoughts,
minding the weight and rust and itchy, grinding
crust that won't come off,
unless my mind tells its hands to pick it up
and wash it.

VISUALIZATION

watching my eyes grow

seeing the risen sun written on my nose

I suppose "now"

is only a word

growing eyes can rearrange

while to "own" is not just an idea

but an entire newspaper stand

full of "won"s besides language

humans also read the scopes of weapons

watching my eyes grow

so they can know what they see

are reflection-spawned reflexes

I a mere one hoping

for sun tomorrow

PERPETUATION

scientific ripples reflect off the bank
back to the initiation of disturbance

popular conversation
my translation
personal relation

the wet scent of long unwrapped crackers
the money-back guarantee of life insurance
mold does not live on bread alone

TISSUE YOU CAN BLOW YOUR NOSE ON
A MILLION TIMES

Scars take their observers to the pre-explained;

time drives its observed in scars to be

cataloged with lost ping-pong tournaments

in backroom memory microfiche,

removed from general circulation through revised editions.

"Earth In Revolution" headlines check calendars;

first traces of new seasons

drive their observers home in childhood buggies;

the colors of shattered lightbulbs and torn newspapers

ornament abandoned houses.

the taped plastic bag over the digital clock

the fresh scent

the essence of newdom in all wrapped gifts

waves and new waves
navy ladies and punks and
always time to read a calendar

bending steel beams
rainbows already bent
people painting

ridiculous laughter webbed in slabs
progress is regress redefines hero
circles are zeroes

one life to pawn or keep alive
friendship daring to be deep-fried
a balancey place to hide

d 0JB

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<£>

uh huh

All questions are mere brainfuls of human

logic that should be obvious to anything

able to read this; isn't it?

A "What?" runs from head to head in a wink

of a little scoop of jelly wrapped in a piece of organic cellophane

having a few veins connected to a brain,

giving the mind an illusion of pleasure

or a protrusion of pain,

seeing and reading it again and again, and a "gain"

is perceivably where the word came from.

Gains can be good, and not so good can be gains,

which makes sense whether cents are involved or not —

the cycle of variable change does not only run laundry washers

and parking meters,

but while money isn't everything,

neither are we who see it our way,

knowing being through a single heading:

Trying To Keep The Change And Enjoy The Gains.

illusive allusive happiness

human brain big enough for logical lament

love is living dreams

personal relation
my translation
popular conversation

back to the initiation of disturbance
scientific ripples reflect off the bank

TRAP

INFINITE PLANES SPLIT SPHERES

A better investment

to insure the capitalist

profit

divests the interest

in the whole.

In the hole,

failing to increase the holdings

equals everything means nothing to the holder.

Holding the failed

increases equals

— everything —

means nothing to the holder

in the hole.

"How much" defines much:
a kiss from a professional kisser
doesn't melt in your mouth
when the bill quacks.

The laughs at

the cries over

the underages

play a game.

The losing players can save face;

the faces played with are saved and spent.

in the hemispheres where the juices of thought boil

steamy windows blur visions

soupmakers who need glasses are blind

with them off or on

the hungry who need soup can only lick up the mess

after the experience has bubbled over

LOTS OF RAGGED FINGERNAILS
IN 2020 A.D. VISION

The ten-handed poker game folds
the players put away the soup ladle
blurs behind steamy windows
stand in deepening snow

HYDROLOGIC

Calluses question the winners

in winter's harbor:

frost's teeth are dulled by the warm blood

but quickly resharpen;

the curious blood, quick or slow,

runs ever in the snow.

EATEN OUT

"When?" questions argue about clocks' samples

teething rings and playpens pass on

and On on "on" all the time

itching to evade evolutionary erosion

split-the-scene amoeba people generate generations

stacking multiplication tables up to the dam edge

where their tapeworms starve

even the most unreadable mind's psychic path

follows the ever-fresh carrot direction

even the most likable liker of likers

warm-bloodedly chews the environs of teacups and chopsticks

clustering variety, melting colored plastic

fingers in the hot batter touch

the journey unstalling progression

the torn calluses kiss loose escape

to bathe their pimpled skin in heaven's oranges and honey

CONTRACTED TO OUR DOTTED LINES

an incorporated tribe's survival instincts

burn competitors emitting profit shrapnel

removing moles for conceptions of beauty

shaping milk in a bowl

the blood on our hands runs also through our heads

running to the head with the runs

since the first human race

signing the dotted boundary lines with the blood

on our slippery carving knives

the Spaniard and the Moroccan aren't that far apart

a few miles of dictionaries can't connect them

Jericho's fate is only pages from "Acts"

can we face up to the axe and off with its head

surviving while the rich and poor still get away with it

passing referendums in a non-representative world

seeing eternity in a cloud

as the rain moistens our eyelids

as we watch our breath flow out

as a tiny cloud

KNOCKIN' ROBIN

Though the reputation of vultures suffers,

it's robins who diet on still wiggling prey.

Emotional pestilence jumps off of the name callers

filtering through moths,

"Maggot Mothers!!"

Their cries' survival eats through the closets and cupboards

of faggots' mothers, niggers' fathers:

poets' brothers and sisters.

Awaiting metamorphosed flight,

a bowlful of happy maggots

serves the breakfast of champion turkeys and chickens,

winged in abstinence.

Though robins diet on still wiggling prey,

it's the reputation of vultures that suffers.

DRIVEN

convenience dues teaches

turnpikes stack cars on a ledge

fencing off the burial ground

the grounds for gritting teeth through coffee stains

ride the hips of goodness knowledge

deriving from evaluated Pinocchio silhouettes on used car lots

welled dead reptiles run the cars

to the truck-fed store

oiled feathers float above shrimp skeletons

adaptive insects guard tomorrow's highways

AT THE WHY

a thinker's idea that another is
watching its thoughts
binds its religious follower
to a persistent fear of doubt
running from conscienceless lions
antelope don't need to think up their fear

INDECENT DESCENT

Eagles on belts

buckle-up for safety in numbers —

the higher the better,

the lower the worse.

Under the eagles,

on the grass,

bundled-up for safety in numbers -

the better the higher,

the more the lower:

marionettes under fingers —

the plumper the pumper,

the bonier the brittler.

TICKET LINE

Finding a reflector,

the movie beats the heat:

the caustically honed womb/man cycle exhibition

kneads asphalt into faulted dirt,

climbing briefcases full of staircase blueprints.

Fingerprints are ground

under shoes stubbing toes

over discarded ticket stubs,

guarding the film

from those who can't afford a mirror.

NOT NEVER HERE

Tell me a time

in the bedside of my night;

tell me just justice.

Just bite off the fight

into powerful peaces

and soldiers who stare at the walls day and night.

Not: "Never here,"

not Paul Revere,

just say: "Every year

we'll play every day."

CINDERELLA CINDERS

>

CAPTIVISM

Hoping no door clunks savage the locks,

mascara over briefcase underwear

chaffs the staircase wall,

heats its vacuum,

squeaks the lightbulb

inside the closet safe, redefined.

No one doesn't want to roll dough,

but since Cinderella can't share her loaf

with her sisters and brothers,

flavoring the sweet bread with spoiled mushroom sauce

has flashed through some of the too many chefs' minds.

Stewing perpendicular opinion,

the Furry God (Damned) Mothers

risk melting the glass slippers right onto their own feet,

frying every egg and its pregnant parents.

Speaking of boxing bodies,

what happened to the spell for turning the coaches back

into pumpkins?

UNITED STATES: A PEACE OF SHIPS

Captain Of Good

Captain Of Justice

Lead Our Crew Of Christian Crusaders

Protect The Seas From Seditious Traders

Captain Of Right

Captain Of Freedom

Steer Our Vessel Through Hell's Gates

Her Name Means Courage: "United States"

"Defend To The End"
That's Our Motto
Around Every Bend
In Every Grotto

We'll Yankee Doodle
Until Everyone Learns
Unless You're Dandy
You Must Burn

PARANOIAC VISION

Another head sees mine dead?

No... but seems so;

no flow to flow;

only sophomoric pupils' communication:

eyes to eyes,

break to nose?

NO!

slows,

smiles,

"Hello"s.

ACTIVITY

the scene playing itself

I watching

launching eyes

face by face

facing my face

mouthing messages

resisting my part

wasting my attempts

grabbing for the on/off switch

making me act

to make sure the next scene was going to be

at least that good

ARMAGEDDON THE BEAUTIFUL

pony tales about Indians

red and read

and blue

and too many stars have fallen

in the Mission's cemetery

off the diet

dying red salamanders

gerrymandered for submarines

for predecessors and successors of Carter

to barter

present tense of the

UNITED STATES OF

A GOD BLESS A

MERRY CHRISTMAS

WE WISH YOU A

marriage mate and business companion

to hold your sweaty hand

in sweet glances

of dancing, romancing, entrancing

rainbows of the most glorious cliches

TWO STORY AD

Paper dolls carve through de-bottled salad dressing
scooping wet leaves and fruits from styrofoam plates.
Waggy paper dogs gobble the turkey
that doesn't fit through the dolls' symmetrical smiles.

Any wrinkled or imprecise dolls are cut out

of the picture

and sewn onto Salvation Army uniforms.

STOOLS ON CASTERS

paining from racing pace

marbles glistening glass

burst their bubbles

but roll on

rolling on the roll-on

rolling into the pits

extracted from wrinkled prunes

WITHIN ANY CASE

Kerosene leg of sleeping —
"Prisoner Soaked Rag" setting.
This fire intelligent years:
things a virtuoso would.
Men wrapping boys' sense,
intuitively going to dimensions familiar,
working the majority,
sleeping always in a half.

AND ALWAYS I'VE

He work the ad;
he is far of Cartesian.
Oh no.

He is headed man who in a complex
which you have to "I've." Always.
And "I" can't think "Them."
"I" too lived with purchased at Great Aunt,
culture tainting several.

The moment: all the "that" an ordinary human reasonably be expected.
I" have sworn it off.

Hill

STARS THE MARK II

Each because:

dull band football

since was be.

Think June —

your most hotels effect means sale.

However, about the new car,

Mercuries with Mark II: the stars

are like headlines, pages, and flowers.

MODERN ART

painted doves

white and lonely

lost in the powercables

soap bar labels

diving into the ripples of a muddy pond

jumping humanity's offense

the barbs pricking